A rose by any other name would probably still sound like a stripper.

If you name your daughter anything that
ends with "i," this is what you can expect.

This is an actual conversation between myself and the reservation agent I booked our Stripper 101 class with in Las Vegas:

(Blah blah blah...details about what time and how many and listing off nine Groupon confirmation codes...)

Agent: O.K., so I'm going to just make the reservations all in your name for simplicity. Can I get your name?

Me: Brandi, B-R-A-N-D-I, Douglass, D-O-U-G-L-A-S-S. [I always spell it out for people, otherwise it ends up being Brandy Douglas every single time.]

Agent: (Giggling) No, I need your real name for the reservation. You can tell her a stripper name for the license at the class.

Me: No, that is my real name.

Agent: Really? Brandi with an i and Douglass with ass?

Me: Yep. That's me.

Sigh.

Fast forward to the next evening at the end of the Stripper class. The teacher told us all to think of a stripper name for our licenses.

Among us we had a Sexy TeXXXy and a Stilett-Ho (which, by the way, the teacher spelled Stitle-Ho, which kind of detracts from the sexy factor), and someone even used Brandi as her stripper name.

Sigh.

So, I make my way up to get mine and she asks me what name I want and I say Brandi. She says, "Brandi is always a good stripper name." I tell her that it's actually my real name, it's even on my shoes. So she says, "Well, I'll sexy-spell it for you."

Guess how you sexy spell Brandi? C'mon, guess.
.
..
...
....
.....
......

Brandi.

Sigh.

And this has been going on my whole adult life. Whenever I meet someone in person for the first time who knew my name in advance, I always want to apologize for not being a large breasted sex kitten, because I know that's what they've imagined.

Do a Google image search for Brandi. (Make sure you spell it with an i.) The first four pages of results are mostly images of large breasted sex kittens that I can't even post here.

I suppose it could be worse. I could have been Bambi.

The Lonelies

I enjoy being alone.

I like quiet. I can retreat into my own head for hours. I'm excellent company for myself--I always agree with what I have to say, and when talking to myself, I'm a brilliant conversationalist.

This week, though, I have a case of the lonelies.

Last week I was surrounded by people 24/7. There was always someone to talk to. And not just anyone--I was surrounded by people I genuinely like and find endlessly interesting to talk to.

And now I'm alone again*, and finding that the company of myself just doesn't measure up to the company of others like it had before. I'm not sure what to do with this--this wanting people around. It's new to me.

I'm not sure that I like it.

Anyone want to come visit?


*If anyone says, "But you're not alone! You have the kids!" I'll hunt you down and punch you in the throat.

About that new header...

So, with all the flurry about Las Vegas, I completely forgot to mention the new header. A couple of Saturdays ago I got a text from my number one minion*, Bennet. It said, "There is a 93 percent chance you will get something in the mail from me today. Don't pass out from excitement."

And so I ran out to the mail box, and there it was. A hand painted picture of me (looking far skinnier than I really am, which is why she's my number one minion) wearing the red bathing suit I wanted to be buried in if I'd died during the tummy tuck and holding the best food ever invented.



And I passed out from excitement.

O.K., not really, but I did squeal and jump up and down.

And then I immediately e-mailed her (you know, the whole phone phobia thing) and asked if it could be my new header.

I had just made that other new header, but people kept e-mailing me about it because they weren't aware that the giant building was the tower of Babel, you know, in Babylon, and it was getting old explaining it.

So, perfect timing on her part.

And then I started getting e-mails about the new header. Because it was missing my MOLE. Bennet is a kind and generous soul. She didn't feel the need to immortalize my giant facial tumor in a painting. But apparently the rest of you do.

So, with her blessing, I broke out my outdated and bootleg version of Paintshop Pro and added a mole. And since Bennet hadn't actually seen me in person in 14 months, she didn't know my hair was a lot longer, so I went ahead and changed that too. So what you see up there now is a slightly bastardized version of her masterpiece.

My husband said it was "interesting," which is his code word for "Please don't get us excommunicated this week. Please?" Whenever he breaks out "interesting" I know I've achieved my goal.

Oh, and the best part? As a bonus, Bennet's daughter, Tenacious G, sent me her own version.


I really had a hard time deciding which one to use.


*Pretty much anyone who sends me stuff can be my number one minion.

**Like the header? Want something similar for yourself? Contact Bennet at JusticeLeagueUnite@Hotmail.com. I don't even know if she's taking commissions, but it wouldn't hurt to ask her.

What happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas.

This one's for you, Harmony.

So, I keep trying to write a recap of my week in Las Vegas, but there's not much to recap.

We may call it "Bad Girls' Week(end)," but let's face it--we're all nearly-middle aged moms. We're too tired to be bad.

I already covered pole dancing and drag queen bingo. Those were the major activities for the week. Other highlights included:

• I finally ate at Cafe Rio. I've been hearing about it from Utah people for years now. It was really good, but fear not my East of the Mississippi friends--Moe's is pretty much exactly the same.

• Marianne won $500 on the slot machines. I won $16, but I spent it on more slots. That's why I should never gamble.

• Harmony passed out at the outlet mall like a drunk girl at prom.

• We saw Gollum in a plaid mini skirt and tube top crouching next to a fire hydrant in front of The Bellagio.

• I may or may not have been filmed doing lap dancing moves to primary songs. And if I did, I assure you that the video no longer exists. I hope.

• I'm pretty sure that we all decided who we'd pair up with if we ever decided to start "playing for the other team." Unfortunately, I think we all decided on the same two people.

• Someone who shall not be named ordered a fruity drink in a three-foot tall glass. She thought it was a virgin drink. She thought wrong. That someone was very drunk most of Wednesday night. (And no, "someone" is not code for "me.")
  

Yeah. That's about it.

I know. I've greatly disappointed you. I'll try to be badder next time.

Stripper 101

So today's Vegas adventure was a stripper class.

Stripper 101 graduating class of 2011
(The hot one holding her boob was the teacher)

Not only can I now give a mean lap dance, but I can work the pole like a champion tether ball player. And with these tips, now you can too:

• Give the cookie, take it away.
• Just pretend you're putting on lotion.
• Don't do the good stuff on the first song.
• Boob check and sexy stretch.
• If you get tired or bored, just bend over, hold the pole and sway. That'll buy you at least five minutes.
• If you freak out, just turn around and shake your ass.
• Insist on payment upfront.
• Layer your panties.
• Don't get too close to the pole or you'll break your cookie.
• Bruised shins are the sign of an amateur.

Breaking my cookie

Midnight in the garden of drag queen bingo.

So, it's midnight and my brain is so not functioning right now and I reek like cigarette smoke and I just spent nearly three hours at drag queen bingo.

It was pretty awesome.

I'd tell you all about it, but I'd have to use words I wouldn't normally say.

I'll leave you with this:

Unfortunately this isn't all of us. Three are missing. This was the conversation immediately after the picture was taken:

Jen: "You just got your picture taken with a bunch of Mormon housewives."
Drag Queen: "Can I be a sister wife???!!!"

Awesome.

On the first day of Vegas my true love gave to me...

...A pair of shiny, glittery whore shoes!


So, in the interest of full disclosure, I've had about three hours sleep in the past 48-ish hours, so I'm not really that coherent right now. I'd love to say that it was because I was gambling or drunk pole dancing in some den of iniquity until the wee hours, but really it's just because we've stayed up way too late talking.

Sunday night I arrived and met three of my friends. We stayed at the gayest hotel ever (not a bad thing, by the way) and thought we'd be experiencing a huge gay spring break bash. Except that we were pretty much the only people in the hotel. Despite the hotel calendar's claim that it was the kick off bash for gay spring break that night, the gayest spring breakers there were the four of us.

Around midnight we decided it would be the perfect time to go get some dinner. The restaurant in our hotel was closed, so we wandered across the street to the Hard Rock Hotel. Now, I'm a pretty liberal person. I'm not fazed by much. But I'll admit that I was a little taken aback by the debauchery going on in that hotel. And I totally saw my first pole dancer. Also, at the table next to us was what I'm pretty sure were a group of porn stars. One of them wearing handcuffs. There may have been some straddling taking place, too. I just ate my potstickers and stared.

Monday three more of our contingent arrived and we moved into the rental house. And because we're all badass, we spent the day shopping at Costco, eating at Cafe Rio and making knitting needle run to Michael's.

Last night we went to the strip and walked around for awhile. I won fifteen cents on penny slots. And not just any penny slots--Star Wars penny slots. We ate gelato at The Venetian and then took a stretch limo back to the parking garage at The Bellagio where our cars were . We're rock stars like that.

Tonight the final three ladies arrive, and we'll be off to Drag Queen Bingo. And when I checked my e-mail this morning there was a Groupon offer to take a pole dancing class for $20. I am THERE. I'll even get a souvenir Las Vegas Stripper license.

What good are stripper heels if I can't also work the pole?

Merry Christmas, Will!